Guitless
by simileum
Summary: MichaelVeronica PWP: Michael and Veronica comfort each other after the details about the murder of the VP's brother come out.


Author's notes: This is my first story attempt. I don't have a beta reader, so pointing out of grammar or typing mistakes is always appreciated. Please be precise though.

Rating: MA (for non graphic sexual content)

**Guiltless**

They spent most of the day in her kitchen sorting through papers, making plans, concocting strategies to get Lincoln out of his latest legal mess. With every paper they go through Veronica seems to get a bit a shade whiter as the implications of it begin to sink in. He reaches for her hand, willing her, no begging with his eyes her to keep faith because the alternative is just too painful.

It all ends when she switches on the TV. They huddle together in front of it, on the floor of her living room. When they show the grainy video from the security camera, it takes them less than a second to know the truth, pixel mask or not.

They don't even bother to finish watching; Veronica shuts it down before the dark figure on the screen can take even three steps. They don't need to see the end to know what will happen.

…

He isn't sure when exactly the crossed the line from comfort to … this. First there was just her tear stained face against his shoulder. He put him arm around her, buried his nose in her hair and then softly kissed her forehead. After that, the spot right above her left eyebrow, then her cheek. She looked up to him, surprised. He isn't sure anymore who moved in for the kiss first. And he sure as hell isn't sure how they got their clothes off so quickly. Or where the condom came from. But he doesn't wonder about that anymore. What he is sure of is this very moment; his fingers on the nape of her neck, her cheek resting against his palm, the way her eyes seem to widen as he slides into her.

For this moment, he sees only her. And yet he wonders, is this what Lincoln saw when he was with her? Is this what he did when they were alone in bed together? Did she also kiss his brother like this, wrap her legs around him, and whisper his name?

But then she pulls him down on her, in for another kiss. "Michael", she breathes in his ear, "Michael.". And Michael doesn't want to think anymore. "I love you, Veronica", he says and for this moment he is almost positive that he really means it.

Afterwards he lies in her arms. He offered to move, to take his weight off her, but she just smiles and holds him close. Guilt rises in him when he realizes just how at peace and, yes, even happy he feels to lie here like this. To rest his nose against her throat, to feel her soft skin against his lip, taste it with his tongue. He smiles, because she still smells just as sweet as she did when he was a child. When he would blush when she hugged him close and her breasts sometimes accidentally brushed against his cheek or a lock of long hair would fall over his face. She seems closer and more vibrant and alive to him than ever before. At last she's here only for him, for him to touch and hold. He knows he should feel more guilt, but he can't bring himself to drive this rare moment of peace out of his heart.

He wonders what she would do if he asked her whether they could do it once more? He leans in to softly kiss the side of her breast.

Reality sinks in soon enough, as she disentangles herself from him. She gets up and starts rummaging through the drawers. Somehow she seems to take all the room's warmth with her. She eventually picks a white dress shirt (Lincoln's? His mind wonders. But why would Lincoln own a dress shirt in the first place, another helpful voice in his head pipes in.). He feels an almost physical pang of loss as the hem of the white fabric slides down to cover her perfect pale behind.

She walks up to the window, leaning against the glass.

"I can't believe he did that.", she says, softly at first. And then, working up an anger, "I can't believe he lied to us like that."

She turns around, her pale blue eyes focused directly on Michael. "How could he do this to you?" Barely a whisper.

She makes a sudden move, as if she intends to come closer. Instead she stays behind. She sits down on the window's ledge. She pulls up one leg, wanting to hug it close, but then realizes what that would expose and lets her feet dangle instead. She looks down, avoiding his gaze.

"I can't believe we did this.", she finally says. "I'm sorry."

Michael sinks back into the cushions and bites the inside of his cheeks till he draws blood. He wants to tell her that it doesn't matter anymore. That they don't have to care about Lincoln anymore. Lincoln betrayed both of them. All his life, Michael had believed that deep down, Lincoln could never hurt anyone, not really, not permanently. That he could never be so far gone to forget about that. He doesn't want to think about what Lincoln has done, he doesn't want to have a brother anymore.

"I'm sorry, too." He says instead and starts to pick up his clothes.

A few minutes later they find themselves in the kitchen again. She put on her skirt again and leans against the door, watching him as he slips on his jacket.

"Are you going back there?" is the last thing he asks her before he leaves.

Her eyes grow harder. "No. I don't want to see him."

He nods appreciatively. That's exactly what he wants to do as well. He never wants to see Lincoln again, never wants to have the sickening feeling of not being able to believe his brother when he says that he is innocent. He just wants to put it all out of his mind.

She grabs his leave just as he steps out of the door, stopping him. Tenderly she traces the side of his face with her finger.

"Who know that you'd grow up to be so pretty?" She murmurs and then stands on her toes, pulls him down to place one last kiss on his forehead. "Take care."

It's still raining when he steps out on the street.


End file.
